Human Nature
by CountryGirl914
Summary: What if Rose had been with the Doctor when he met the Family? And what if they went to Rose's time, instead of 1913? And what if the Chameleon Arch didn't take away his memories? T overall, but M for chapter 4.
1. Chapter 1

**A/N:** And what if this really didn't look much like the episode _at all_, and was mostly a thinly veiled excuse for the author to write lots of romance and angst? Oh, well. I hope you all take a chance on this one, and enjoy it!

This is mostly written already, so updates should be coming regularly. (Me, updating regularly. Why, yes, that is a low-flying pig you see.)

**Feedback:** Is love. Please review!

* * *

They stumble into the TARDIS, laser blasts crackling in the air around them. As soon as the door closes the Doctor stumbles to the console and starts the dematerialization sequence, eager to get them away from this planet as soon as possible.

"Well, that wasn't too bad, was—" he starts to joke, until a beep from the TARDIS cuts him off. He grabs the screen in front of him and reads the complex symbols Rose still can't understand.

His face goes slack, then frustrated. "No! Oh, no no no!"

Rose pulls herself off the floor and goes to him. "What's wrong?"

"They're following us."

She frowns in confusion. "But how? They didn't have a time machine."

He shakes his head. "Stolen technology. A Time Agency vortex manipulator, by the looks of it," he says, tapping the screen. "Which means they can follow us anywhere, anywhen—" He pauses. "They're never going to stop."

And then, without warning, he turns and grips her by the upper arms so tightly it hurts. "Did they see you?"

"What?" she asks, startled. Everything's going too fast. "I…I don't think so…"

He asks again. "Did they see you?"

"I don't know!" she shoots back at him. "Was kinda busy running."

"_But did they see you?_" His eyes are wild, and she realizes this is not the time for doubt.

"No."

He releases her, steps away and runs a hand through his hair. "Okay. That's good. That's very, very good. One human among billions, they'll never be able to sniff you out. But me, I'm unique. Wherever I go, they'll find me. Unless…" He looks up, expression arrested. "I'll have to do it, then."

She's worried now, the plans spinning through his head too fast for her to keep up. "Do what?"

He looks at her. "They didn't see me either. And their lifespan is running out. So we hide, and wait for them to die."

She nods. "Okay—so we're going to be in the Vortex for a while?"

"No," he says, "that wouldn't work. There's no time in the Vortex—we could stay in here for ages and when we popped out, no time would have passed for them. No, we can't do that."

"But you _just_ _said_ they'll be able to track you wherever—"

"I know," he says softly, eyes fixed on hers. "The last Time Lord in existence, they'll be able to find anywhere. Which is why I have to stop being a Time Lord. Become human."

Rose freezes, breath stuck in her throat. "What? That's impossible. How…?"

He dives under the console, and there's a raucous clanging as he rummages through and pulls out some lights, wires, bits of metal and plastic, and finally, an ornate pocket watch and foreboding helmet. The last two he holds up for her to see.

"It would be, without this. The Chameleon Arch. Never thought I'd use this." He attaches the helmet to a cable hanging over the console, fits the watch into the centre. "It'll rewrite my biology—literally change every cell in my body."

_Change every cell_…Rose's heart stops beating for a moment. "You mean like regeneration?" she manages to get out. "Doctor, if it's permanent, you can't—"

The Doctor finally stops what he's doing and looks up at her, smiling softly. "Oh, Rose. No, it's not permanent. The Arch will take the Time Lord part of me and store it in this watch," he says, tapping the item in question. "Then, when the Family is dead, we simply open the watch and poof! I'm back. All we need is a way to know when they've passed on, which I can whip up in a matter of moments, easy-peasy." And with that, he descends upon the other bits he's pulled out from under the console.

She tries to sort through her whirling thoughts as the Doctor sonics the pieces together into…some kind of detector? "But…if you're going to be human…new person, new memories? Are you going to be able to remember me?"

He looks up at her again. "Of course. It _is_ like regeneration in that aspect. Change every cell, but it'll still be me. Besides," he says, smiling winningly at her, "I could never forget you, Rose Tyler."

She smiles back, momentarily reassured.

"And…there!" he cries, standing up and brandishing the device he's just finished. "All ready. While the Chameleon Arch does its thing the TARDIS is going to take us to London and then power down—can't have the Family noticing it. And then it's just waiting for…oh, about three months, I'd say. This baby will light up when they're gone, so we know for sure." He grins at her. "Three months as a human. It'll be an adventure in itself, don't you think?"

She tries to grin back, but nerves are starting to creep up on her again. "Doctor, are you sure this is the best plan? Maybe we should—"

He cuts her off. "We can't, Rose. There's no time." He hands her the device and sets the Arch on his head, turning and reaching for the console. "It's now or never."

"Wait!"

His hand pauses over a button. "What?" he asks, exasperated.

She bites her lip, looks at him. "Rewriting every cell in your body—isn't that going to hurt?"

His expression turns evasive. "It'll be fine, Rose. Don't worry."

"Doctor," she says warningly.

He tries to hold out, she can tell, but his façade crumbles almost instantly. "Yeah," he says softly, "it's going to hurt."

They stare at each other for untold seconds, him giving her silent permission to leave the room, to avoid what's coming; her steadfastly refusing to move. He finally sighs, looking away from her, at the control under his fingertips. "Okay," he says, "here it goes."

He presses the button.

And starts screaming.

* * *

He screams, terrible, agonizing, blood-curdling screams that work their way under Rose's skin and into her bones as she helplessly watches him clutch his head in pain, bright bursts of electricity shooting through both the helmet and him. It's horrible, and Rose, hands over her mouth, can barely stand to watch. But like she's told him before, she's staying with him forever. She's never leaving him, so she stays, unmoving, bracing herself and biting her lip until it almost bleeds. The TARDIS shakes, taking them to London, lights flickering threateningly, the Doctor screams, and she stays.

And then, suddenly, finally, it's over. The TARDIS stills and goes dark—powering down, just like the Doctor said—and the Chameleon Arch stops, releasing its hold on him. He stumbles forward a few steps, unsteady on his feet, and Rose rushes forward to catch him, hands on his chest holding him up. His eyes slowly open and focus on her, although it takes a bit. He smiles weakly at her when he finally sees her again. "Hello," he whispers.

"Hello," she says back, trying not to panic, but _oh God_, she can feel warm skin and one heartbeat through the thin shirt beneath her fingers. He's human. For the next three months, the Doctor is human. She swallows. "You okay?"

"Of course!" he replies. "Never better." He gives her another attempt at a winning smile.

And then his eyes roll back in his head, and he collapses into her arms.

* * *


	2. Chapter 2

**A/N:** Hope this chapter is as well-received as the first!

**Feedback:** Is love. Please review!

* * *

When he next opens his eyes he's in a darkened room, garish pink duvet covering him. Jackie's flat, then, his mind sluggishly processes after a moment. Rose's room. He manages to wearily push himself onto his elbows—exhaustion, that's a new feeling—to look around the room, and there's Rose, sitting cross-legged at the end of the bed.

"I don't—" He stops and swallows, surprised at the hoarseness of his voice. Well, he had been screaming, hadn't he? He tries again. "I don't get your mum's bed this time?"

She smiles widely at him, both at his joke and out of relief that he's awake. "This was easier." She tilts her head, and he looks in the direction she's indicated to see the TARDIS taking up a large corner of Rose's bedroom. Good girl—she'd realized she couldn't land out on the street where the Family could find her. Although Rose's room is now significantly smaller. "Sorry about that."

She shakes her head. "S'okay. Not like I come in here except to sleep anyway."

He's managed to pull himself into a sitting position by this point. "Speaking of sleep—how long have I been out for? Everything okay?"

"Couple hours," Rose replies. "And yeah, everything's fine. Mum was a bit out of sorts when she heard us materialize and rushed in to see me dragging you out of the TARDIS. I explained what'd happened, and I think she's okay now."

He shudders. "Glad I wasn't awake for that. Even your mum wouldn't slap an unconscious man."

Rose laughs. "I don't know—I'm sure you could tempt her into it."

The overwhelming fatigue has dissipated as they've been talking, and now he's ready to face the day. He pushes off the covers and jumps out of bed, beaming. "Well, Rose Tyler, it's the first day of my human adventure. Are you willing to show me how it's done?"

That wonderful tongue of hers pokes out between her teeth as she takes his offered hand and stands. "Of course."

They have to squeeze between the TARDIS and the bed to reach the door, and the Doctor stands there for a moment, looking at his dormant ship. Rose leans against his side, hand still in his. "How does it feel, her not being in your head anymore?" she asks softly.

It takes him a while to formulate a response. "It's…it's strange," he admits. "I know, logically, rationally, that something that used to be there is no longer there. But the human brain can't communicate with the TARDIS like that. There's no empty space to be filled. So while I may know that it's gone, there's nothing for me to miss."

* * *

They spend hours letting the Doctor experience London with only one heart and five senses; he takes it all in as if it's some exciting, fascinating experiment. ("That's how things look to you, Rose," he asks. "_Really_?") Then they shift to getting him set up, as there's no way Jackie's tiny flat can accommodate another person for three months.

It's ridiculously easy to get him a flat at the estate, using the psychic paper as identification (it's the only bit of tech he'll allow himself; even the sonic screwdriver's been relegated to the TARDIS—there's no way of knowing what the Family can track them through). In a few days' time he's her new next door neighbour, with carpets and doors and everything—but only a bed, table, and two chairs for furniture. Why get anything else, he says, when they'll be leaving again so soon? And besides, he says with a grin, he'll probably be spending most of his time at her place anyway.

He introduces himself to everyone as John Smith, waving "the Doctor" away as a nickname, an inside joke between him and Rose. They all take to the lie easily enough, most likely because it's too hard to believe that an actual doctor would be living on a council estate. Rose refuses to make her mum support her, so even though it's the beginning of July, the height of the summer, she manages to finagle her way into a job at Hendricks again—probably because they feel guilty about the shop blowing up with her almost still in it. But barely a week later she's bored stiff with the repetitive stocking and oblivious customers. In order to preserve her own sanity—and the welfare of those around her—she quits and finds a job as an assistant at a local daycare. It may not be travelling through time and space, but at least here every day isn't the same, and the children's carefree innocence lifts her spirits.

As for the Doctor…a few days into their extended holiday, over dinner—because he _is_ at her flat more than he is his own, and his first attempt at cooking without the TARDIS resulted in what could possibly be called a small explosion—Jackie mentions Edward Milton, the cheerful old man who's been running a local electronics shop for over fifty years. The Doctor may not have his huge Time Lord brain at the moment, but he's still a whiz with technology, and the very next day he goes to the shop and charms Milton off his feet. He's hired on the spot, to help run the register, and for any repair jobs that trickle in.

When they're finally both gainfully employed they go to the pub to celebrate, but the night doesn't last long, as the Doctor manages to get pissed in record time. "God, you're a lightweight!" Rose teases as she drags him home.

"Not m'fault," the Doctor slurs, leaning heavily against her. "Firs'ime this body's hadda drink. Not m'fault." He looks at her with conviction, which quickly turns to wonderment as he lists closer to her. "Rose," he whispers loudly, "there's two o'you. How'd'you do tha'?"

"Magic," she laughs, dragging him up the stairs, into her mum's flat, and onto the sofa so she can keep an eye on him.

When he wakes up in the morning with a blinding headache Rose throws a bottle of aspirin at him, which he recoils from. "I'm allergi—" he starts to say, then stops. No he isn't, at least not right now.

She returns to the room with a glass of water, and he takes the medicine without comment.

* * *

Sleeping takes some getting used too. It's not like he's never slept before, but it was only snatches of rest, with days or even weeks in between the moments. Now, every night like clockwork, he can feel his mind and body start to slow and his eyelids start to droop. It's impossible to resist, no matter how hard he tries. His bed calls to him like a siren, and he burrows beneath the covers, asleep within seconds. He sleeps until his alarm goes off—for he can no longer measure out the hours—and even then he's reluctant to leave the warm, soft space. At least now he understands more why it's so hard to get Rose out of bed in the mornings. When they're travelling again, he promises himself, he'll be more considerate, and not pull her out of bed whenever he's ready for an adventure.

Sometimes.

Maybe.

And clothes! He's just stepped into his new flat for the first time when Rose comes in and unceremoniously dumps a laundry basket of clothes at his feet. There're jeans and trousers and shirts and jumpers and jackets and possibly even some pants, embarrassingly. He stares at her, eyes wide.

"It was hard getting to the wardrobe room with the TARDIS powered down," she says, "but I managed. She must have realized you'd need all this before she shut down—it was right inside the door, and everything looks to be your size."

He continues to stare at her, and her eyes soften. "You can't wear your suit all the time. Besides the fact that it would fall apart, people would notice. You need to blend in."

She's right, he knows she's right, but it doesn't make the situation any less uncomfortable. They're just clothes, pieces of wool and silk and cotton, but he feels…naked, somehow, the first time he puts on jeans and a t-shirt instead of his pinstripes and tie. His armour's gone and he's exposed to the world. Rose seems to notice that something's wrong, like she always does, and holds his hand, grounds him, makes him smile and laugh, and by the end of that first day it's not so bad, not anymore.

* * *

One day in mid-August the Doctor wakes up slowly to sterile white walls, scratchy sheets, and an antiseptic smell that burns at his nostrils instead of the muted sunlight and soft duvet he's become somewhat accustomed to. A hospital? He squints and shifts slightly, trying to figure out what has happened.

"Oh, thank God," a voice breathes at his side, and he turns his head to see Rose sitting beside him, hand in his and a look of relief on her face.

Something bad has occurred, obviously, but his memories are frustratingly fuzzy and vague. He's still not used to this, not having perfect recall, and it's even worse at the moment. "Rose…what happened?"

"We were shopping," Rose prompts, "getting some groceries for Mum, and there was a little boy…"

It's coming back to him now. They'd been walking along the pavement, talking and laughing, when he'd noticed the boy out of the corner of his eye. He'd accidentally kicked the ball he was playing with into the street and had run after it, oblivious to the car heading towards him. The Doctor had run after him without hesitation and pulled him out of the path of the vehicle. They'd hit the ground, and then there was pain, and then…nothing.

"The boy," he asks urgently, coming out of his reverie, "is he okay?"

"He's fine," Rose reassures him. "Barely a scratch on him. But you, you bloody idiot, managed to land on a rubbish pile and stab an old pipe through your leg." Her eyes brim with tears. "I've never seen so much blood. The doctors said it tore your femoral artery—you could have bled to death."

He shakes his head. "I would have been fine, Rose. I—"

She tightens her grip on his hand and shakes her head fiercely. "No, you wouldn't have. Right now you're a man, and you'd have been gone. No second chances." Her voice softens. "I'm not going to ask you to stop saving people—I'd have done the same thing if I'd seen him first. But just…be careful, yeah?"

A chill goes down his spine as her words sink in. She's right—there are no regenerations to save him now. A second chill follows the first, spreading out through his body until he's almost shivering. So this is what it feels like, he thinks, distantly. The human fear of dying. Permanently and irrevocably.

He never wants to feel this way again.

"Yeah, okay," he says. "I'll be careful."

And then for the first time he notices the bandage wrapped around Rose's elbow, and reaches out to touch it. "Rose, you're hurt! What happened?"

"M'fine," she says. "They said it was actually quite easy to repair the artery, but you'd still lost a lot of blood, more than they had on hand. So they started asking around for donors." She smiles, wide and beautiful and happy. "And it turns out, we have the same blood type."

* * *

They keep him in the hospital for a few days of observation, to watch for pulled stitches and infection, and then he's released, but ordered to stay in his flat and rest for the next two weeks. He grumbles, but he does it, and it's actually not too bad. Milton assures him he'll still have a job when he gets back and even brings him some small repair jobs to tinker with while he's stuck inside. Rose comes by every day with food and conversation, and sometimes they even defy the rules and sneak the few steps over to her place to watch movies and EastEnders and mindless reality shows, as he still refuses to add anything else to his spare flat.

He recovers, and time marches on, August slipping into September, children returning to school as the leaves change colours and the days grow shorter. And it's been a grand adventure, this fleeting field trip into the land of humanity, sensing with different senses and feeling only one heart beat within his chest instead of two. But it's hard, being able to manage only some simple phrases in a few languages when you're used to being fluent in millions, to vaguely remember how quantum mechanics works but be unable to solve a simple problem. He wants to be able to take Rose's hand and dance among the stars again. He'll readily admit that he's getting antsy. Every night he checks the device, the detector that he built so long ago. Their three months are drawing to a close, and any day now it'll light up, letting them know that the Family is gone, that it's safe once more, that he can finally be himself again. So he checks, every night, as time marches on.

Three months come.

Three months go.

The detector stays dark.

* * *


	3. Chapter 3

**A/N:** I'm sorry I didn't update yesterday, but I'd like to think that _graduating from college_ (w00t! \o/) is a good enough excuse. ;-P

**Feedback:** Is love. Please review!

* * *

He's beyond antsy now. One week after three months and the device still hasn't lit up—and there's nothing he can do about it.

"It could be practically anything," he explains to Rose, pacing in front of her, "from a faulty light to a broken circuit to something else entirely that I just can't imagine anymore. And I can't try to fix it, because I'd probably just break it now, and then we'd really be in trouble." He runs his hands through his hair in agitation. "And worst of all, what if it's not even broken? What if I miscalculated their lifespan? Maybe it wasn't three months—maybe it was six, or nine, or twelve, or even thirty. Or maybe it wasn't months—maybe it was years. Rose—" He looks at her helplessly.

She's not feeling the best herself, but it won't do any good for both of them to panic. "Is there anything we can do about it right now?"

He deflates a little. "No. Just wait."

She nods. "That's what we'll do, then. We'll wait a few more days, and if the detector is still dark, we'll talk about opening the watch. That okay?"

He sighs, still anxious but willing to go along with her plan. "Yeah, that's okay."

* * *

The next day finds him in Milton's shop, manning the register and nervously tapping his fingers against its side. A few more days. He can do this.

The bell above the door rings, and he looks up to see a young boy of around ten or so enter the shop and stiffly walk up to the counter. The Doctor frowns. That's not how little boys should walk. "Are you okay?" he asks.

"I'm looking for the doctor," the child says in a disquieting monotone. The Doctor's even more concerned now. "Why? Are you hurt?" he asks, starting to come out from behind the counter. Milton has also heard the boy, and appears from one of the aisles. "We can call for help, son, if you can't walk far."

"No," the boy says, sounding vaguely irritated now, and the Doctor and Milton both relax slightly until he continues speaking. "Not _a _doctor—_the _doctor. I'm looking for a man called the Doctor."

Blood's rushing, pounding behind his ears, but he can still hear well enough to hear Milton say, "Hey, John, doesn't your bird call you Doctor?"

The boy turns sharply to stare at him…and sniffs.

'Stupid, stupid, _stupid_. Bloody idiot,' a small portion of his brain screams at him. 'A strange person starts asking about "the doctor" and you think he's just sick? _Idiot_.'

But a far larger part is frozen, horrified, keeping him rooted dumbly to the spot. 'Oh God,' it says. 'They've found me. They've found me, and there's nothing I can do. They've killed this poor little boy, and now they're going to kill me, and Rose and Jackie and Milton and the rest of London and there's nothing I can do. Everyone's going to die, and it's all my fault.' His palms start to sweat, his _stupid_ human body unable to control the reaction.

"It's…it's just a nickname," he finally manages to choke out. "Just an inside joke."

Time stands still as the child eyes him intently, and sniffs the air once more.

But he's just John Smith now, completely and utterly human, not a trace of Time Lord for this member of the Family to find, and without any other reason to interrogate him the child reluctantly steps back.

"Okay. Thank you," he says, without a trace of warmth in his voice, and turns and walks back out of the shop.

"Well, that was strange," Milton remarks.

The Doctor doesn't respond. He just stands completely still until the boy is out of sight.

And then he bolts from behind the counter, past Milton to the toilets. He retches, heaving until there's nothing left to come up, until he's gasping with his cheek against cool porcelain, body shaking.

Milton, concerned, gives him the rest of the day off. He goes back to the Powell Estates and sits in his darkened flat until Rose comes to get him for dinner.

* * *

Both Tyler women can tell that something is obviously wrong, as the Doctor just silently picks at his food, not contributing to the conversation in his usual animated fashion. When the meal is over and the dishes are cleared, Jackie turns to him. "Well, out with it."

He starts. "What? Nothing—it's nothing."

Rose snorts indelicately at him. "Come off it. We can both tell something's wrong—just tell us what it is."

He's silent for a moment, staring at his hands in his lap. And then—"The Family is still alive. I saw one of them today."

There are instantly noises of concern and distress from the two women, but he waves them off. "He couldn't detect anything Time Lord related, so he left. Nobody got hurt."

Rose is still concerned. "But they'll keep looking, right?"

"Of course. But their tracking capabilities are quite powerful. If they don't find any hints of a trail in the next few hours, they'll leave London, and then England, and then the hemisphere. I wouldn't be surprised if they leave Earth in less than a day."

"Well, that's good then," Jackie says. "Danger over, and you'll be able to change back."

He pushes away from the table. "But that's just it—I can't! Even if they're not on this planet, they'll be able to detect it if I open that watch. No, it's still not safe. The only thing this did is prove that my detector is still working—it was never broken. I just miscalculated how long they had left to live, and I don't have the ability to redo it. Now…" he stares across the room, blank expression on his face. "Now we wait."

Knowing he shouldn't be left alone tonight with his demons, Rose leads him over to the sofa to watch some telly. Mindless entertainment is a good diversion, she knows, keeping you distracted from what's troubling you.

It wouldn't have worked on him before—he was capable of dividing his attention among dozens of separate thoughts and tasks.

It works now.

He hates that.

* * *

He hates the cold, too. The start of winter has arrived in London early and with a vengeance, bringing stinging pellets of frozen rain and bitter winds that howl through the streets and between buildings, and he hates it. Before, with two hearts and a better physiology, he could go anywhere—even Woman Wept—in just his suit and coat. This burst of inclement weather is mild in comparison, but now it leaves him freezing, burrowed into sweaters and thick jackets and hats and scarves and still he's never truly warm if he's outside. He goes from his flat to the shop and back to his flat, rarely deviating from the routine. Rose is over constantly, bringing hot cocoa and smiles, but his answering grins are but pale comparisons.

He checks his device every night before he goes to bed, his own version of a prayer.

It stays silent.

* * *

He gives Rose the watch, for safekeeping. He'd like to think that he's stronger than that, but sitting in his bedroom, mocking him every time he lays his eyes on it…

No. It's better this way.

Less of a temptation.

* * *

Milton idles up to him in the shop as he's replacing some wires in a toaster. "Is everything okay, John? You've seemed out of sorts for the last week or so."

'The aliens hunting for me are still alive,' he thinks, 'and I'm stuck in a body that's not mine until they die.' He keeps his eyes on the electronics in front of him. "It's nothing, Ed. Just a case of the blahs because of the time of year. I'm sure it'll be over soon."

His boss doesn't look like he's entirely convinced, but he lets it pass. "Well, then maybe this'll make you feel better." He leans against the table, facing him. "I've seen this shop through a lot of years, but I'm not getting any younger. I need someone to help run things, to take over when I can't do it anymore, and I think you'd be perfect for the job. What do you think?"

He refuses to have something that ties him to this place, this time. Just one more thing to mock him, to tell him he's never going to get to go back. "Ed, I…I can't."

Milton scoffs at him. "'Course you could. You're amazing, fixing everything that comes in here and making all the customers happy. You'd be a natural manager, John."

He _can't_. "I really just don't think it'd be a good idea."

Milton concedes for now but refuses to take no for an answer, telling the Doctor he'll ask him again after he's had some time to think it over. But he's never going to change his mind. Putting down roots would be the first step in admitting that he's stuck here forever, and he'll never do that. Never.

* * *

He gets in his first huge domestic with Rose a few days later. She asks him to go out with her and go to the pub, go watch a movie, something, _anything_, and this is the request and refusal that break them both. Voices are raised, insults are hurled, and soon his door is being slammed so hard the walls shake. He stands in the middle of his empty living room for a moment, trembling silently, and then leaves himself, walking briskly through the streets, trying to use the weather to cool his heated emotions. When he returns Rose is waiting for him, having used the spare key he'd given her when this all first started.

"I'm sorry," she says. "I shouldn't have gone off on you like that." She hesitates for a moment. "I miss it too, you know, the travelling and adventures. But you can't just…curl in on yourself like this. You can't stop living."

He looks at her helplessly. "I can't keep doing this, Rose. I can't…I'm forgetting things," he tells her. "The human brain isn't meant to hold as much as that of a Time Lord. Things that happened in my first body are getting fuzzy. I can remember the general ideas, but the specifics are gone—a random person's name, the colour of the light when the sun sets on a planet light years away. And it's going to keep happening, to my second regeneration, and my third, and my fourth, on and on until I can barely remember any of it."

"It'll all come back when the Family is gone," she tries to reassure him, but he's having none of that.

"But what if I was wrong, Rose? What if it never happens? What if the detector never goes off? I'm not going to risk your life, or Jackie's, or anyone else's. What if I have to stay this way forever, live life in a straight line, grow old and then die?"

"It'll go off, Doctor."

"_But what if it doesn't_?"

The look of despair on his face tears at her heart. "Then we'll regroup and keep going, like we always do when something bad happens. And you'll survive, like you always have."

"I'm not that man anymore," he whispers, and she moves forward to enfold him in her arms.

"Oh, Doctor, yes you are," she murmurs into his ear, "even if you don't believe it anymore. And I'll always be there for you, to remind you."

They stand there for untold moments, him savouring the feeling of safety he gets from being in her embrace. "It was a stupid plan," he says softly. "You were right—I should have stopped and thought about it some more. There was time—there's always time. I was just too convinced that I had it all figured out. Stupid, stupid plan."

"There's nothing we can do about it now," she says. "Just have to make the best of a bad situation." She pulls away from him and heads toward the door. "I'll be right back."

She returns in a few minutes with the knapsack that he recognizes as her overnight bag, used when they'd stop by to visit and Jackie would insist Rose stay in her room instead of on the Doctor's ship. He doesn't question her, instead letting her get ready in the bathroom while he changes into his pyjamas. In bed she pulls him to her, wrapping her arms around him and spooning up behind him. He's done this for her so many times on the TARDIS, staying with her to fight away the nightmares.

It's time she returns the favour.

* * *

Rose's benevolent gesture helps, but it only delays the inevitable. By the end of October he's hit bottom, and one day after work he goes to the pub with the intention of getting utterly pissed—anything to make it all go away, if only for a while. (It still takes only a few pints before he's completely soused, which irritates him to no end.) Rose finds him later that night and silently takes him back to her flat, to the sofa again. And just like last time he wakes to a brilliantly splitting skull and a foul taste in his mouth. This time, however, Rose is nowhere to be seen. "Rose?" he groans, struggling to pull himself into an upright position.

"She got the day off for you," Jackie says, coming into the room, "but she still had to work herself." She hands him painkillers and some water, which he downs without hesitation. His headache abates a little as the cool liquid slides down his throat. Maybe not as hungover as last time, then. A slight improvement.

Jackie watches as he sets the empty glass down in front of him. "There you go, should be feeling better in a jiff. What's gotten into you lately anyway? I've never seen you so depressed—you're always cheerful and bouncing off the walls—"

Her words are the last straw, what finally set him off. "That's because I'm not that man anymore, Jackie!" he shouts. "I'm not a Time Lord travelling through time and space; I'm a human who's stuck in one place for the rest of his life! I'm not the Doctor, even if you and Rose keep calling me that. I'm John Smith, stupid, weak, miserable, worthless—"

His rant is cut off by Jackie suddenly sitting down beside him and pulling him into her arms, head on her shoulder. He resists weakly for a moment, but it's a useless endeavour, and his breath hitches once before he's crying, sobbing out four months of anger and frustration and fear. Jackie just holds him, rocking him back and forth like a child—and that's almost what he is, isn't it? Doesn't matter if it's his own fault or not, he's been thrust into a life that he's never known before and has no idea how to handle.

She holds him until he cries himself out, then slowly releases him to let him sit up straight again. He scrubs his hands over his face in obvious embarrassment, and she tactfully ignores his pale skin and puffy red eyes.

She waits until he's composed himself before she speaks again. "I worked from home as a hairdresser to keep Rose in this flat. Does that make me worthless?"

His gaze snaps up to hers, his eyes wide with confusion. "No!"

"What about Rose? Is she worthless for working in a shop before she met you?"

"Of course not!"

She covers his hands with hers. "Then do the same for yourself, Doctor. I know it may not be what you want to be doing, but you're putting in an honest day's work to keep a roof over your head and food on the table. Don't ever be ashamed of that. You do that every day, and most importantly, you make Rose happy. Keep doing that, and you'll never be worthless, not in my eyes."

He gives her a tremulous smile. "Okay."

"Okay, then." She stands. "Let's get you a cuppa." But before she can take a step, he speaks.

"Jackie…"

"Yeah?"

"Thanks."

"Anytime," she says, and impulsively leans down and places a kiss on his forehead, like the mother she is. He closes his eyes, a small smile tugging at his lips.

"And next time you decide to go get pissed," she throws over her shoulder as she walks to the kitchen, "you can sleep it off in your own bed. You ever throw up on my carpets and I'll slap you back to your flat."

"Yes, _Mum_," he says sarcastically, and Jackie stops short, the beginnings of tears shining in her eyes, before she reaches for the kettle.

The Doctor doesn't realize what he's said until later.

* * *


	4. Chapter 4

**A/N:** This part is rated M, higher than the other chapters, so you've been warned.

**Feedback:** Is love. Please review!

* * *

He's still at her flat when Rose walks in later that day, talking animatedly with someone on her mobile. "I'll bet she's a handful, knowing you!" She starts a bit when she notices the Doctor, then gives him a wave. 'Feeling better?' she mouths silently, and when he nods she smiles and goes back to her conversation. "Really? That's great, Shareen." But whatever the woman says next causes the smile to fade from Rose's face. "I don't know…I already told you that I'm not sure that's a good idea." A few more moments of silence, and then a sigh of concession from Rose. "I'll see, but I'm not making any promises."

She ends the call and looks back to him. "You remember Shareen, don't you? You've met her a few times." Off his nod, she continues. "She and her boyfriend Vance had a baby a few months ago, and he's finally convinced her to get a sitter and go out for dinner. Shareen wants us to join them."

The Doctor looks away from her. "Rose…why don't you just go on your own? I'm sure you and Shareen will have plenty to talk about without me there."

"I know, but she really wants to get to know you, the 'bloke I've been travelling with,' in her words. I told her you probably wouldn't want to go, but she insisted I ask."

He hates to see the resignation on her face. He doesn't want to do this, wants to go back to his flat and hide from the world again, but he doesn't want to be the reason she's so unhappy. He can't stop living, Rose says. Keep Rose happy and he'll never be worthless, her mum says. The words echo through his head as Rose crosses the room towards her bedroom, to get changed.

"Okay."

She turns back to him. "What?"

"I said okay. I'll go."

Her lips curl up into a bright smile, and the Doctor knows he's made the right choice. The night may be uncomfortable, but he'll do it for her. Besides, if it all becomes too much to bear he can always beg off and go home early. Rose would understand.

The four of them go to a nice restaurant and spend more time talking than eating, Shareen and Vance showing off photos of their baby daughter, Rose and the Doctor regaling the other couple with—slightly edited—tales of their travels and adventures. In fact, the Doctor enjoys it more than he thought he would—Rose's friend and her boyfriend are funny and intelligent, and they find plenty to talk about through dinner and beyond, until Shareen can't stand to stay away from her child another minute. When they finally part, he realizes that he didn't go home early—he actually stayed late.

* * *

A few days later the Doctor wanders back into Rose and Jackie's flat to find Jackie watching telly and Rose in the kitchen chopping up some veggies, various ingredients and pots and pans scattered around her. "You're making dinner tonight?" he asks Rose.

"Yeah, I figured I should give Mum a break this time."

"Oh." He backtracks a bit, leans out into the hallway to address Jackie. "Is that a good idea?"

"Oi!" Rose exclaims, pointing a carrot at him as Jackie laughs. "We may not do much cooking on the TARDIS, but I'll have you know I can make a respectable shepherd's pie."

He holds his hands in the air in surrender. "Okay, okay." He watches as she continues with her preparations.

"Can I help?"

She looks up at this. "You?" she asks sceptically. "You, who practically burned down your flat the first and only time you tried to cook?"

"Hey!" he protests. "Like you said, that was my first attempt. It can only get better—practice makes perfect, yeah? And I can't rely on Jackie for food forever. C'mon," he cajoles, bumping his hip into hers, "I'm sure if someone's actually showing me what to do, it'll turn out loads better."

Rose looks at him appraisingly for a bit. "It'd have to turn out better," she says finally. "No way it could get any worse." She moves over to give him room. "Here—you can peel the potatoes."

Jackie wanders in from the other room. "Oh, now this I've _got_ to see."

He listens attentively to what Rose tells him to do, with various tips from her mum, and when he's actually given directions to follow and explanations as to what the various cooking terms mean, he finds that cooking isn't as hard as he thought. It's actually rather fun, putting various ingredients together—almost like a science experiment—and getting something delicious in the end. He practices more and more, until he gets quite good at it. Jackie still does the majority of the cooking, but sometimes the Doctor takes over. And sometimes he helps her, with Rose joining in. Those are the best times, when all three of them are crammed into the tiny kitchen, talking and laughing as they work, making an old favourite or some new recipe the Doctor's stumbled upon and is dying to try out. It's almost like therapy, this new tradition that soothes his nerves and anxieties as the days pass—food for the soul, if you will. But better than therapy, because it keeps him surrounded by the people he lo—

The people he cares for most.

* * *

It's mid-November when Rose enters the Doctor's flat at the end of a long week, ready for some fun and relaxation—and stops, wondering if she's somehow entered the wrong door. For there in front of her, in what used to be a bare living room, are a comfy-looking couch and a decent sized television, tucked into the corner.

The Doctor appears from the hallway, dispelling her worries of humiliation. Yes, this is his flat. "Hey, Rose," he says happily, and then notices the look of bemusement on her face. "Everything okay?"

She nods at the new furnishings, and he follows her gaze. "Oh, yeah." He rubs at the back of his neck. "Got off work early and decided…well, you can see. Thought it was about time—this way we don't have to bother your mum every time we want to watch something. Had enough money for it—not like I spend it on anything else." He spreads his hands wide, indicating the otherwise spartan room.

"Oh, Doctor." She goes over to him and hugs him tightly. Because she knows this is more than just trying to please her. These are the first things he's bought for his flat that aren't out of necessity. These mean permanency. These mean he's giving up, or settling in, and she's not sure which is better and which is worse, if she's proud of him or sad for him. Maybe a little of both.

"You know," he says softly into her hair, "we can't go on with 'the Doctor' forever. Someday you're going to have to start calling me 'John'."

"No," she says fiercely, shaking her head. "Never. You're the Doctor, no matter what else you go by, and I'm never going to call you anything different."

They stay like that, locked together, for a long time.

* * *

Many of Rose's possessions make their way into the flat next door, as lately she's there more often than not. Sleeping with the Doctor to scare away the nightmares has turned into just sleeping with him. Jackie raises her eyebrow questioningly but stays silent, and Rose doesn't even try to explain. Her mum would never believe that all they do is sleep, but it's true. The hum of the TARDIS used to be their lullaby; now the beat of the other's heart has taken its place.

* * *

One early Saturday morning the Doctor is woken up by Rose jumping on his bed, practically on top of him. "Doctor!"

"Mphf." He pulls her currently unused pillow over his head and burrows deeper under the covers. "G'way."

"Dooooc-toooorrrr…" She bounces on the bed for good measure.

He turns over, away from her. "No," he mumbles, but she is unrelenting and pulls him back over to face her, tugging the covers away. He finally gives up with a beleaguered sigh and opens his eyes. "I don't know how early it is, but it's too early. What in the world could have you up at this hour?"

Her eyes are sparkling with delight even in the dim room. "It snowed."

He squints at her. "It's snowed already this winter."

She scoffs at him. "Yeah, icy little pellets that melted as soon as they hit the ground. This is proper snow, with big fluffy flakes and everything. Look!" She hops off the bed and pulls back the curtain, and the whiteness outside almost blinds him. She's right—London's covered by a thick blanket of snow, turning the city into a winter wonderland.

"It is pretty," he comments.

"Not just pretty," she says, "it's perfect. So c'mon." She tugs at his hand. "We're gonna have a snow day."

"A snow day? What are you, five?" But he's smiling as she pulls him up.

She grins back at him. "What's the point of being an adult if you can't act like a child sometimes?"

He swears he's said something similar to that, ages ago, but he can't remember. But the sentiment still stands, and he lets her pull him out of bed. And they have their snow day—they spend hours making snow angels and snowmen, leading the boys and girls of the estate in epic snowball battles, and finally just walking through the deserted streets, listening to the crunch of their footsteps and the whispering of falling snow, which mutes the usual sounds of the big city. It's been a great day, the Doctor can admit. He actually laughed today, a genuine laugh, something that he hasn't done in months. And as he looks over at Rose, hand clasped firmly in his, cheeks red from the cold, a burst of warmth flows through him.

This isn't so bad, he thinks.

* * *

Milton asks him again about managing the shop.

The Doctor says he'll think about it.

* * *

The days fly by, as they are apt to do, and suddenly it's Christmas morning. The Doctor and Rose run the few steps from his flat to Jackie's in their pyjamas, defying the early morning chill. They burst in through the door, chattering loudly, waking Jackie up in the process. She grumbles good-naturedly at them and starts the kettle. The day is packed full, from opening presents and turkey and pudding to crackers and telly and even more food and lounging around with stuffed bellies. They don't really _do_ anything, but he's still so tired that when he and Rose bid Jackie goodnight that evening, he heads straight for bed.

On Christmas, he forgets to check the detector.

* * *

It's Boxing Day, so of _course_ Rose has to go shopping, and of course she has to drag the Doctor along with her. He complains, but he's not really annoyed—how could he be, when he gets to spend an entire day with Rose? So they go shopping, dashing around all of London for the best deals.

Again, he forgets to check the detector.

* * *

And again the next day.

* * *

And the next.

* * *

Everyone goes to the pub on New Year's Eve. Rose and the Doctor go as well, at Jackie's urging, for a couple of pints and to socialize with all their friends. But soon they're both yearning for quiet and time alone, and so they head back to the Powell Estate well before midnight, to the Doctor's flat. The man in question is walking steadily, for once. "You finally drank without getting pissed. Congrats," she compliments him.

He laughs as they climb the stairs. "Had to happen some time. Third time's the charm, I guess. Probably helps that I only had two drinks."

"Probably," she teases.

He may not be drunk, but the alcohol has put him in a melancholic and contemplative mood. When they reach the door he strips off his coat and walks into the bedroom, flopping down on the bed. Rose wanders in after him as he stares at the ceiling.

"I'm sorry I trapped you here," he finally says.

Rose sits down beside him. "I'm in London in my own time, right where I'd be if I'd never met you. I'd hardly call this 'trapped'."

"You know what I mean."

"Yeah, and I'm ignoring it, because you're being silly."

"All of time and space at our disposal, and now you're stuck with me, and I can barely give you Cardiff as a holiday."

"Stop it," she chastises him gently. "I won't say that I don't miss it, because that'd be a lie. But I still have you, and that's good enough."

"Rose," he sighs, "I appreciate the gesture, but really, I'm not even a Time Lord anymore. I can't—"

She puts a finger over his lips to prevent him from continuing. "No, you listen to me." The hand over his mouth moves to his hair as she puts her other hand on the far side of his body so that she's leaning over him, blond hair a curtain around them. "I may have first come on the TARDIS for travelling and adventures, but I stayed for you. Whether you're Northern with big ears or manic in pinstripes or even," she smiles at him, eyes glistening, "or even a regular bloke who works at the electronics shop around the corner. Because I don't care about the packaging. The kind, brave, intelligent, selfless, funny, amazing man that's always beneath the surface—_that's_ who I fell in love with. Because I _am_ in love with you, no matter what form. So as long as we're together, I'm happy. Nothing else matters."

He stares up at her in wonder, the feel of her fingers in his hair like fire against his scalp. Out of the corner of his eye he can see the bright colours of fireworks going off, can distantly hear the cheers of the crowds on the street below. But all that takes a back seat to the amazing woman above him.

New year. New Doctor. And his control's not as strong as it used to be, as a Time Lord.

He raises himself up on his elbows and kisses her.

She responds immediately, opening her mouth to him so he can slip his tongue inside, tasting the lager she'd had earlier that night. He wraps an arm around her neck and pulls her with him as he falls back on the bed. He maps her mouth with his tongue, and Rose responds by brushing it with her own once, twice, before pulling back to nibble on his lower lip, drawing a moan out of him. She moves to the side, planting open-mouth kisses along his jaw line, and he pulls her earlobe into his mouth, sucking on it gently, getting a moan out of her as well.

Hands are everywhere now, things getting more intense, and he knows there's no way he can stop himself, after holding back for so long. He's just about to ask her about protection when he remembers the small plastic clamshell container that he's glimpsed with her toiletries, and stays quiet, question answered.

And then he just stops thinking.

He doesn't have much experience with this, but his amazing, _wonderful_ human body knows what to do. When Rose pushes his shirt over his head and casts it off to the side he knows to return the favour, trying to get as much skin to skin contact as possible. His hands know to make their way to her breasts, massaging them and teasing her nipples until she's crying out and arching against him, every movement of her hips brushing against the tightness in his trousers and weakening his already meagre control. They hurriedly discard the rest of their clothing, and he rolls on top of her, the growing tightness in his groin telling him not to wait any longer, that the time is _now_.

Rose strokes him as she moves him into position, causing him to whimper into her shoulder. And then he's easing into her, tight and warm and velvet and _oh God_. They both gasp at the sensation.

"Are you all right?" Rose whispers, wrapping her legs around him.

"Yes," he murmurs. He's more than all right, he's fantastic. "Just…" But it could be better somehow, something instinctive is telling him. He just needs to…

He fumbles with his hand, pulling it out from under her head and trailing it down her body and over the back of her thigh until he reaches the crook of her knee. He pulls her leg up higher, and the change in position allows him to sink further into her and _that's it_.

He's had sex before, as a Time Lord with his myriad of senses. It's different with only the human five—not good different or bad different, but just different. He may not be able to follow the changes in her pheromones or dip into her mind, but with fewer pieces of information bombarding his brain he can feel each one more fully, and they're quickly overwhelming him as he thrusts into her.

"Rose," he moans, desperately, the movement of his hips becoming erratic as the pressure inside him builds and builds. It's too much, it's all too much, and he's not sure how much longer he can…

And then Rose is climaxing, mouth open in a soundless O and nails scratching down his back as she clenches around him for the final time. That's all he needs, the pain and the pleasure combining to push him over the edge. He groans and goes rigid against her, mind completely blank for one endless moment. He collapses on top of her, head heavy on the pillow next to her as he pants into her ear. They stay there for a moment, tangled in each other, until the Doctor raises himself up so he can look Rose in the eye.

"I love you too," he whispers, and it seems so easy now. "I always have."

"I know," Rose whispers back, hair rumpled and skin glistening with sweat and absolutely beautiful. "Me too."

He rolls off her and she turns to curl into his side, hand over his single heart. They're both asleep in a matter of moments.

* * *

He wakes slowly on the first morning of the new year, stretching against the soreness in his body and smiling contentedly. His mind is full of thoughts of houses and weddings and children, things he would have run away from before, but now…now they just seem right.

The other side of the bed is empty, his wandering hand tells him, and he opens searching eyes to see Rose standing across the room, holding something in her hands and looking out the window, facing away from him. She's put on the shirt he'd been wearing the night before, and his heart clenches at the sight.

"Hey," he says softly, not wanting to startle her. "Sleep well?"

"Doctor…"

The tone of her voice sends a shot of worry through him. "What?"

She turns, and he finally sees what she's holding. That silly, _stupid_ contraption he built a lifetime ago.

It's blinking.

* * *


	5. Chapter 5

**A/N:** Well, here we are at the end. I've been overwhelmed by the response to this story--thanks so much, everyone! I hope this last chapter doesn't disappoint.

Additional author's note at the end of the chapter.

**Feedback:** Is love. Please review!

* * *

He stares at it in disbelief. He's not ready for this. He had been, months ago, but then time came and chipped away at his emotions and now he's as far away from _ready_ as possible.

"It's time," Rose tells him, and he shakes his head.

"No," he whispers, pleads, as she makes her way back to the bed and sits down beside him. She has the watch with her, he notes. She must have been keeping it with her, just in case.

"The universe needs you," she says, and pulls one of his hands into her lap. She presses the watch into his palm and his fingers close around it instinctively. Instantly a dull burst of fire blooms in the right side of his chest, echoes of infinity whisper across his mind. But the sensations are foreign now, and he shrinks away from them.

He tosses the watch to the end of the bed and tries to get as far away from it as possible, pushing himself back into the headboard. "No," he whimpers, turning shining eyes to Rose. "Please, no."

"You can't hide from who you are, Doctor," she repeats, unshed tears in her eyes as well. "Don't you miss it? Don't you want to be yourself again?"

"But what if I don't want to be the Doctor anymore?" he cries, doing nothing to stop the tears trailing down his cheeks. "What if I just want to be John Smith, who works at Milton's shop and is in love with Rose Tyler? Why can't I have that? Why can't I get what I want for once?"

She reaches out to cup his cheek and he leans into her hand, desperate for the contact. "Is that what you're worried about? Losing me?" She smiles softly at him. "What did I tell you last night? It doesn't matter to me whether you're human or Time Lord, whether we're in London or on the TARDIS. All I need is you."

He shakes his head as he blinks, vision blurry. "I'm not afraid of losing you. I'm afraid you'll lose me."

"Why? Didn't you say you've always loved me, even when you were still a Time Lord? This isn't going to make your feelings change."

He nods. He would have denied it, before, tried to hide his emotions away, but now he can't stop it all from pouring out. "Yes, but I never would have told you."

"Did you want to?" Rose interrupts.

"Yes," he whispers, eyes locked on hers. "Every day. But I couldn't, Rose. I couldn't, and that's what will happen if I turn back. I turn back, and I'm going to outlive you by centuries. You'll die, whether from old age or one of our adventures, and I'll have to go on without you. I can't do that. You promised me forever," he says, selfish for once in his life, "and I want that. If I change back that goes away, but right now it's possible."

Rose sighs, gently wiping the tears off his face, their trails shining in the early morning light. "Doctor, even now we don't have forever. One of us could get cancer, or end up in a car accident, or millions of other things. Life is never certain. I could die just as easily in London as I could on the TARDIS. But no matter where we are, I'm going to stay with you as long as I can. That's all I can give you."

She's right, he knows she's right, but that doesn't help his scattered emotions. "I don't know how I'll react, if I'll be able to tell you how I feel anymore."

"You will," Rose says, pulling him into her arms. "You will, because this hasn't made you a different person. You may be human right now, but you still have the same memories, same feelings, same ideals. John Smith is still the Doctor, and the Doctor will still be John Smith. And I'll be there the whole time, helping you along."

He buries his face in the crook of her neck, trying to capture the moment forever. "It won't be the same," he murmurs into her skin.

"Of course it won't—can't help being a little different. But not a good different or bad different—"

"—just different," he finishes, laughing thickly and remembering the Christmas with the Sycorax. It seems so long ago now.

Rose cups his face in her hands, gently raising his head until he's looking at her. "It's going to be okay," she assures him. "You're going to be okay. _We're_ going to be okay."

She leans in and kisses him, lips soft and warm against his own, giving him all the comfort and strength she can. He reciprocates, pulling her back down to the bed.

They make love again, quietly, desperately, the Doctor mapping out her body with fingers and eyes and lips and tongue and teeth, memorizing the woman below him. He doesn't want this to be the last time, but if it is, he's going to remember every detail.

They lay there for a silent moment before the Doctor eases off the bed. He searches the floor until he finds the watch, then returns to his place beside Rose. She leans into his side as he stares and stares at the watch. He can feel the power trying to seep back into him, the whispers tickling at the back of his mind. It's time, they're saying.

It's time.

He looks back up at Rose, sees all the love and caring in her eyes. She's not going to say anything, try to force him to act. This has to be his decision. But she knows what has to be done.

He does, too.

"I love you," she says.

"I love you too," he says, and hopes it's not for the last time. "Even if I'm a git and never say it again, I love you."

"I know," she whispers.

He closes his eyes and takes a deep breath, hoping against hope—he won't, can't call it praying—that he's not as big of a coward as he thinks he is.

He opens his eyes, gives Rose a shaky smile.

And opens the watch.

* * *

A few days and a lifetime later, the Doctor lowers Rose down onto his—_their_—bed and drapes himself over her. "I love you," he whispers into her ear and the curve of her shoulder as they move. "I love you."

Turns out, love isn't just human nature.

* * *

_The End_

* * *

**Final A/N:** I was thinking about putting a few more scenes between the Doctor opening the watch and the ending, but it just didn't seem to work with the flow of the story. Would anyone be interested in reading that interlude, later, if I ever get around to writing it?


	6. Interlude:Falling in Love All Over Again

**A/N:** So here's what happens in those "few days and a lifetime later." Sorry it's taken so long! The finale kind of killed my muse for a while, but I think it might be coming back. The response to the main story was amazing, so I hope this interlude doesn't disappoint!

* * *

They stumble into the TARDIS, laser blasts crackling in the air around them

Regrowing a heart is just as painful as losing one, the Doctor finds.

Nothing happens at first, besides the glowing tendrils of light that unfurl from the watch and reach towards him. He's about to speak, to question what is happening, when it begins.

He's knocked over by the force of it, curling into a ball and crying out against the all-encompassing pain. Suddenly there's fire flowing through his veins, a new heart pumping into life in his chest, impulses singing up raw synapses to a brain that's not prepared to handle them yet, and then—

—and then for a moment he's nothing and everything, no one and everyone, nowhere and everywhere, all at once. Time stops and fast forwards and reverses, again and again, for a moment and an eternity and he can't take any more, he can't…

And then it's over.

He slowly comes back to himself, the sheets soft and cool beneath his cheek. Rose is behind him, holding onto his tense body, trying to sooth the tight muscles beneath the skin.

"Ow," he says, eloquently.

"Are you okay?" Rose asks, concerned.

"Yeah, I think." He takes a moment to do a personal inventory. Everything aches—his very cells are sore, if that's possible—but there's no serious damage. Nothing that will cause him to regenerate. "Yes, I am. Or at least, I will be." He rolls towards Rose, onto his back. "Oh, ow. Again."

He looks up at her with a weak smile, and she grins back, gloriously happy that he's going to be fine.

It's at this point that reality intrudes, that his brain finally decides to kick in and remind him that he's naked. And that Rose is, too. Yes, there's a distinct lack of clothing on both their parts. Because they've, they've just, well…you know. Twice. Oh, this is going to be awkward. If it isn't already. Because he's definitely feeling awkward. And oh, look, there's the rambling again. Not like it ever left, mind, but humanity had decreased it from a sprint to a rather sedate stroll, so there was some difference.

Before the awkwardness can increase to lethal levels, there's pounding on the front door. They both turn and look in its general direction.

"Rose! Doctor! You in there? You okay?" Rose's mum shouts. "I'll break down this door if I have to!"

They jump out of bed. 'Bless Jackie and her timing,' the Doctor thinks as he and Rose struggle into their clothes, embarrassment forgotten in their haste to prevent the woman from making good on her threat.

The Doctor manages to make it to the entrance first and opens the door to see Jackie with her fist in the air, prepared to batter the wood again.

"We're here, we're here. No need for domestic destruction."

She drops her hand. "Thank God. All that screaming, I thought one of you was dying!"

"Nope, no dying. Just changing species." He winces in remembrance. "Now _that_ hurts."

"Changing…" Awareness dawns on Jackie's face as Rose appears by the Doctor's side. "You mean you're a Time Lord again? The Family is gone?"

"Yep!" he says, and tries to will away the tension that's starting to encase his body, because of the emptiness in his mind. God, this is worse than both the Sanctuary Base and their trip to the parallel world. At least those hadn't lasted longer than a few days, and on the Sanctuary Base the TARDIS had been lost to him, but still in his mind. He's only been back for minutes, but the TARDIS has been shut down for months, and he can feel every second being piled on him, with no time to get used to it. "No fun and games, but everything's back as it should be—binary vascular system, respiratory bypass, and all the rest."

Jackie ignores the technical talk. "Well, it didn't sound like everything was fine! You're lucky that everyone else is still sleeping off last night, and no one heard."

God, he's not sure how much longer he can take this. "I'm surprised you weren't too," he mutters.

Hurt flashes across her face. "Oh, so it's like that again, is it?"

He pinches the bridge of his nose. "No, it's not. I'm sorry, Jackie, it's just…"

Rose figures it out. "The TARDIS."

Jackie just looks at her. "What?"

Of course Rose would understand. He looks at her gratefully as she explains the problem to her mother as simply as possible. "Now that he's a Time Lord again, he can feel that the TARDIS is shut down, and it's hurting him." She turns and looks at him in sympathy. "Are you going to be okay?"

"For now," he answers, "although it's not really a comfortable situation."

"Well…the Family is gone," Rose says. "Is there really anything stopping us from turning the TARDIS back on right now?"

A grin slowly breaks out over his face, its mirror image causing Rose's lips to curl as well. "No, there's not," he says, and after a beat they're both running into Jackie's flat, the woman in question lagging behind.

They laugh like children as they race into Rose's room. Unlocking the door takes but an instant, and then they're inside the darkened ship. "Oh, I've missed you!" the Doctor exclaims, unable to resist hugging the console in his joy, and then he's whirling around it, a mass of flying hands as he presses buttons and spins dials. He pulls one final lever and suddenly the lights come back on, the alien green glow of the centre column comes flaring back to life. Most importantly, the humming, soothing presence of his ship whispers across his mind again, and he almost weeps in relief at the feeling. He's not alone in his head anymore.

Rose is smiling too, eyes bright. "I've missed her too," she whispers, and for a while they just stand there, smiling brilliantly at each other.

* * *

He changes back into his suit as soon as possible and then spends the rest of the day tinkering in the TARDIS, checking to make sure everything is in working order after her extended period of disuse. Rose uses the time to move her things back into the TARDIS, carrying loads of clothing and other personal items through the console room. When she's finished she wanders back in and curls up in the jump seat, intending to watch him work, but she's barely sat down when he whirls to face her.

"So!" he exclaims, bouncing on the balls of his feet in his excitement, "where do you want to go now? Past, present, future? Earth, or someplace else? Oh! I know just the planet! Precipitation is switched—snows in the summer and rains in the winter, so you can have snowball fights in your swimsuit!" He smiles winningly at her. "How does that sound?"

"Sounds amazing," she says, "but not right now."

He stops bouncing, enthusiasm slowly draining away. "No?'

She sighs. "This hasn't just been an adventure, where we defeat the monster, overthrow the dictator, save the day, swan off. We've been here for _six months_, Doctor. We've become a part of people's lives. We have people expecting us to be at work tomorrow. We can't just…disappear."

She's right, as she has been so often lately. He thinks of Milton, who believes he's found his successor, and of the children at the daycare, who have grown so attached to Rose.

"Just a few days more," Rose wheedles. "A week or so at the most—enough time for them to find replacements, so it isn't so sudden." She looks at him, worried. "Can you do that?"

Can he? He takes a deep breath, and realizes…he can. The urge to travel is certainly back, feet itching to move, but it's not as intense as it has been, tempered down by experience. He knows, now. He's spent half a year in one place—he might have been human, but it was still him—and it didn't kill him. Another week won't be the most fun, but he won't go mad.

"Yeah," he says. "I'll be okay."

"Good," she says, smiling brilliantly. She hops off the seat and stretches, arms raised high over her head. "Well, this has been a long day—I'm going to bed." A look of wonder passes over her face. "And in my old bed."

He smiles at her amazement, because he understands. There have been many times in the past months that he wasn't sure they'd ever have this again, the Doctor and Rose in the TARDIS.

"Goodnight," she says, shuffling away from him towards the corridor, and he picks up the sonic screwdriver, ready to start tinkering again. She stops in the archway, though, and looks back to him.

"Do you want to come with me?" she asks softly, and the implication is obvious.

They wouldn't be sleeping.

He knows, being a Time Lord again, that time doesn't actually _stop_, but it feels like it does as he stills, screwdriver hanging loosely in his grasp. Sense memory slams into him, the smell, taste, _feel_ of her coming back to him in waves. Would her skin feel even softer now, with his myriad of senses back in place? Taste even sweeter? But he can't think about that. He's not John Smith any more, able to have that sort of life. He's the Doctor, and he lives and lives while everyone around him dies. He wanted to just ignore everything that had happened, shove it away and go on pretending, but now she's brought it out again and he's stuck, wavering between leaning forward and pulling back. "Rose, I…I…"

She gives him a sympathetic smile. "It's okay, Doctor. You're not ready to deal with this yet. I understand. I'm not going to push you." He nearly sags with relief.

She's not finished, though. "But I'm not going to let it go either. I know you're still the same person inside, no matter what you think. I said I was going to help you through this, and I meant it."

She leaves the room, and it takes all his willpower to stop himself from following her.

* * *

Some time later, a noise interrupts his work. He looks up to see Rose's mum cautiously entering the TARDIS. "Is something wrong, Jackie?" he asks, interrupting her awestruck perusal of the ship and returning her attention to him.

"Where's Rose gone? She should be asleep, but she's not in her room."

The Doctor looks back to the part in his hands. "She is sleeping. She just decided to move back into her room on the TARDIS. She's missed it. And speaking of that, shouldn't you be asleep as well? Been a long day."

"Shouldn't _you_ be asleep?" Jackie counters. "Been an even longer day for you."

"Don't have to sleep as much anymore," he reminds her.

"Right. Forgot," Jackie says. She pauses, then speaks again, hesitantly. "So you two will be leaving in the morning?"

"No, it'll be a few days, at the very least. Rose can't leave the daycare in the lurch, and I've got to talk to Milton. We need to get all that taken care of first."

"Oh," she says, looking surprised and relieved all at once, but she recovers quickly. "Good plan." There's another silence, another pause, and the Doctor looks up to see Jackie walking up the ramp to stand in front of him. "Doctor," she pleads, "please promise me you'll stay safe."

He sets the part down at this, gives the older woman his full attention. "Jackie, I can't promise that Rose will always be safe. All I can do is give you my word that I'll try my best to protect her."

"That's not what I meant," she says, and he looks at her, confused.

"What?"

"I wasn't just talking about Rose. I want you back in one piece as well."

His brow furrows. "Why?"

Jackie reaches out and absently straightens the lapels of his suit jacket, focusing on the fabric as she smoothes it down. And then she looks back up, staring him straight in the eye.

"Because you're family," she says softly, like it's the most obvious thing in the world.

He stares and stares at her, jaw working but nothing coming out. His eyes start to burn and his vision starts to blur and he looks away, embarrassed, blinking rapidly to try to keep the moisture from falling.

Jackie's having none of that. "God, you're like every other bloke," she chastises him. "Always trying to 'act like a man'. It's okay to cry, you know, to let it out."

And so he does. He grabs Jackie and hauls her into a fierce hug, letting the tears run silently down his cheeks. "I...thank you," he whispers, and she just hugs him tighter.

They finally pull away slightly. "At least promise me that you'll visit more often," Jackie pleads.

He laughs thickly. "That," he says, "that I can do."

They smile at each other for a moment before Jackie lets loose with a jaw-popping yawn. Her expression turns sheepish as the Doctor laughs. "Guess I was more tired than I thought. Should probably get to bed," she says, moving away from him towards the TARDIS entrance. "Goodnight, Doctor."

He looks at this wonderful woman, who's gone from hating him to grudgingly tolerating him to accepting him, who's become the mother he hasn't had in oh so long.

This time, he knows exactly what he's saying.

"Goodnight, Mum."

When she gives him a wide, teary smile, he can see where Rose gets her grin.

* * *

Saying goodbye is surprisingly both easier and harder than he thought it would be. The next morning he tells Milton that he and Rose are leaving, travelling again, and the older man just smiles. "Knew you wouldn't be staying here long," he says, "no matter how much I hoped you would. You're just not the type to stay in one place."

"I really am sorry, Ed," he says, but Milton just waves him off.

"Stop apologizing, son. Nothing wrong with doing what makes you happiest. Just don't be a stranger—stop by next time you two wind up in London again. I'll save the hardest repair jobs for you."

The Doctor laughs. "I'll do that."

* * *

He makes his way back to the estate at the end of the day, still ensconced in the heavy coat he's worn for months. Have to keep up appearances—it wouldn't do for him to suddenly start wearing his pinstripes and overcoat in the dead of winter. About halfway there he meets up with a smiling Rose, coming back from the daycare, and they walk side by side through the cold streets. "How'd it go?" he asks her.

"Well, they weren't exactly happy, but they took it well enough," Rose replies. "They have a few applications on file, so it shouldn't take long to find a replacement." She pokes him in the side playfully. "Shouldn't take them longer than a week. Think you can manage that without going spare?" She skips ahead playfully, throwing the last bit back over her shoulder at him.

He smiles at the image of her skipping to the street corner like a child. They have the right of way, and she starts to cross. "Yeah, I think I can manage…"

Something's wrong. Something is horribly wrong, as time shudders and the air twists and shimmers around him. He turns, searching for the source of the alarm—

—and sees a lorry barrelling towards them, the driver paying no attention to the woman about to step into the street.

He races forward and hauls her back, catching her under the arms when the unexpected change in momentum jerks her off her feet. "Oi!" she shouts at the receding lorry. "Watch it, wanker!" And then she realizes the severity of the situation, how close she just came to breathing her last, and the Doctor has to support her anew as her knees weaken. "Oh," she breathes.

"Are you okay?" he asks, and Rose nods her head in the affirmative. "Jeopardy friendly, you are!" he exclaims as he helps her stand, anxious and relieved and almost trembling from the rush of adrenaline. "I can't take you anywhere."

She turns to him. "That's right. I'm not completely safe anywhere. No one is. TARDIS or home, it doesn't matter."

He can't find anything to say to that.

They walk the rest of the way in silence.

* * *

Unable to keep himself away, he spends that night in Rose's room, just watching her sleep, breathing slow and even. She wakes up once—he can tell from the changes in her heart rate. She never opens her eyes, though. Never confronts him, asks him what he thinks he's doing. She just stays silent and still, and lets him duel with his demons alone.

* * *

When Shareen and Vance find out the next day that they are leaving, they insist on taking them out one last time before they go. So the four of them end up at a club, drinking and laughing and talking—well, shouting at each other over the music—and amusedly watching the masses of humanity around them. They're there for almost an hour before the opening chords of a soft, slow ballad waft across the room, and Shareen stands.

"Well, I don't know about you, Rose," she directs to the blonde as she tugs Vance to his feet, "but I'm dancing with my man before the night is over."

Rose smiles at her friends as they become lost in the crowd of people on the dance floor, and then turns her attention back to the man beside her, hand outstretched. "I think Shareen has the right idea. What do you say, Doctor?"

"What?" he asks, startled. "Oh, no. Nonono. I'm quite fine exactly where I am, thank you _very_ much."

"C'mon," she cajoles, tugging on his arm.

"Rose, please, no. I don't—I don't dance."

There's a pause, and then he rushes on, before Rose can even finish quirking her eyebrow at him. "Well, I guess I dance, but I don't _dance_. Um, well, I guess I do, because technically I—we—I, I did, but as a general rule, I don't…didn't, um…"

She's managed to pull him out of his chair. "C'mon, Doctor," she says again. "It's just dancing."

'It's never _just_ dancing with you,' he thinks plaintively, but by this point it's too late. She has him out on the dance floor, arms around his neck, and his hands automatically go to her waist as she sways gently in time with the music. He hasn't been this close to her since…since he changed back, and the proximity is just too much. Soft skin and golden hair and human smell, and he's lost. He gasps, head dropping and mouth opening slightly, resting against her jaw. He can almost taste the salt on her skin. "Rose," he breathes, eyes closing against the onslaught.

"Sssshhh," she shushes him, and holds him closer.

He sinks further into her, crumpling, everything in him loosening and relaxing until he's the one with his head on her shoulder, Rose supporting him as everything whirls around them. The music plays and the people dance but it's just him and her, her pheromones washing over him, enveloping him in warmth and home and love.

Love.

The strength of her love for him is overpowering, overwhelming, humbling. It flows over and through him, filling all the nooks and crannies and dusty corners of his soul. He can feel his hearts thrum in response, and suddenly, finally, he gets it, understands what Rose has known since the beginning.

It doesn't matter whether he gets to spend seconds or an eternity with her. Whether he has one heart or two, a flat or a TARDIS, one thing remains constant.

He will always love Rose Tyler.

He finds the strength to pull his head back, until his forehead rests against hers. "Rose Tyler," he murmurs, opening his eyes to look into hers, sees the love shining there. And he gives in, gives voice to what his hearts have been saying ever since they met.

"I love you."

Her expression softens as she looks back at him. "I love you too," she whispers.

She moves and he moves and then they're kissing, and he feels like he's found a part of himself he never knew was missing, a piece of his hearts slotting back into place.

Roes finds Shareen and Vance in the crowd and motions to them, letting their friends know that they are leaving, ignoring the suggestive grins they get in response. They leave the club hand in hand, their only point of contact as they walk silently through the dark London streets. Their slow, steady pace belies the anticipation, the intent that is making the air heavy and thick around them. They quietly make their way through Jackie's flat, to Rose's bedroom and the TARDIS. There is a moment's hesitation as to which bedroom to go to, but that dilemma has been solved by the ship, as there is only one door in the corridor off the console room. And when they enter the room, the reason why is obvious.

His dark wood bed and her light, soft bedding. His desk and her dresser. Fashion magazines next to physics textbooks and tools next to makeup. A button-down shirt and a hoodie tossed casually over a chair.

They smile at the sight and at each other, both silently thanking the TARDIS for finishing what they started. But the mood quickly turns serious again as the Doctor reaches for her, cupping her cheek and running his thumb over smooth skin, catching a happy tear as it falls. "Rose," he whispers, and that's all the encouragement she needs.

One by one, pieces of clothing are removed and dropped softly to the floor as they make their way to the bed. Heat curls low in his stomach as Rose's lips trace a path over his jaw. They've done this before, and yet they haven't. He's touched her but not with these hands, kissed her but not with these lips, seen her but not with these eyes, tasted her but not with this mouth. They're making love for the third time, and the first, and the dichotomy is mind-blowing.

"Anything I need to know? Anything going to be…different?" Rose asks as they bump into the bed.

"Not much," the Doctor replies. "Just a little more…mental." His fingertips brush her temple, and they both gasp at the sensations produced.

"I can do that," she breathes against his lips. "Mental's good."

"Very good," he agrees, as he lowers her gently, reverently down onto the bed.

_Their_ bed.

They cry out when he thrusts inside her, the shared feelings feeding back and looping around and heightening the pleasure. And he finds that he doesn't have to scramble for human memories because this body knows what to do as well, hips moving and twisting, urged on by primal instinct and the electricity shooting down his spine. Rose moans, and he presses a wet kiss to the point where her neck meets her shoulder. He moves and she moves and it was so hard to say before, never said, locked away so deep because he thought he didn't deserve to get to say it. But now that he has, as a human and more importantly as a Time Lord, the lock has been released, the chains crumbled away, and all he wants to do is say it again and again, the three words a litany from his lips.

"I love you," he whispers into her ear and the curve of her shoulder as they move.

"I love you."

* * *


End file.
